Sunday, August 21, 2011

Hell hath no fury like an 11 year old girl going through puberty and ain't no heart big enough to love the crap out of her.

Ruby. A gift.

She stuns me with her thoughts, articulations, moods, ideas, expressions of love & fits of passion.

The other night I said "I'm not the fucking maid!" in response to finding that she had (artfully) painted strokes of nail polish on the downstairs shower stall, soggy towels on the bathroom floor and perfect curls of eyeliner pencil frosted with the merest slips of melty, deep blue color smeared into the vanity.

I was pissed and she was stolid. She didn't waver till I uttered the obscenity and then she crumbled. I apologized for the word, but not the sentiment, for the anger but not the message and then I left it alone.

Later, when she was fresh out of tears, I told her that I really was sorry for swearing. And she said, that's ok. And then she said, when I'm all upset all I want is you, mom. I act like I don't, but I do. She closed with a kiss and an I love you.

I asked her to try to be patient with me in a few years if (when) she says that foul word to me. I told her I hope I'd have as much grace and presence of mind as her.

Minus the F-bomb. This shit goes down in my house EVERY DAY. The kid blows my mind like Mikey with the pop-rocks & coca cola. She asks me hypothetical questions (and she prefaces with: This is hypothetical, mom). She tells me she knows it's weird she's addicted to love songs even though she has NO IDEA what it feels like to have an unevenly broken heart that's deeply rolling. She asks me to buy her meringue cookies simply on the basis of their appearance.

Two days ago, she said she's considering vegetarianism again not because of the moral conflict of humans eating meat (we're not the only mammals who do, you know. Animals eat each other. It happens) but because of the filthy practice of turning the sweet hog into savory bacon. Yes, she said "savory".

I'm not kidding. She's extraordinary. And she's changing. Evolving into a most stormy and delectable thing. I don't wish her one second older or younger. I want to eat her alive and rub my tummy. And for now, she wants me to, too.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Since we moved, I've been poking into my brains for the perfect first post in the new digs. Plenty of inspiration. PLENTY. But those trifles will have to wait because tonight I was pulled to the keyboard to officially record a most troubling find:

While I was in the bathroom (on the toilet) cleaning up from a rogue peeing episode by Lincoln all over my lap, pants, undies, legs (more on that later. maybe), I discovered TO MY FUCKING HORROR a grey pubic hair. A G R E Y P U B I C H A I R